


A Problem Shared

by i_eat_men_like_air



Category: The Terror (TV 2018), The Terror - Dan Simmons
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, And They Were Shipmates..., First Time, M/M, Oh My God They Were Shipmates..., Oral Fixation, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Suicidal Thoughts, What If We Were Stuck In The Arctic With No Hope Of Rescue, and we were both boys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-30
Updated: 2021-01-30
Packaged: 2021-03-16 23:40:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29090682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/i_eat_men_like_air/pseuds/i_eat_men_like_air
Summary: Mr. Collins is having thoughts. While this is not unusual, these are thoughts that he is struggling to deal with. As a result of this, he heads to find The Terror and Erebus' certified Kindly Little Lamb™, Mr. Goodsir.Mr. Goodsir is looking at two large buckets of Arctic fauna. This is definitely not unusual, but when Mr. Collins appears in his workroom, things get rather out of (or rather, in) hand.
Relationships: Henry Foster Collins/Harry D. S. Goodsir
Comments: 6
Kudos: 24





	A Problem Shared

‘Mr. Collins!’ 

Harry Goodsir stumbled up from his position, barely managing to right himself as he stood precariously over two large buckets of water. Erebus’ second master blinked, bemused, as he watched the surgeon’s assistant fumble about. 

‘My apologies, sir! Is there something I can help you with?’ Harry asked, tucking his hands into his waistcoat pockets and blushing fiercely at the state he was in. 

He had been studying the inhabitants of the buckets, namely several interesting molluscs and tiny crabs, and had been entirely absorbed with his research when Mr. Collins had stomped in, knocking the snow off of his boots as he entered the room. It was a small cupboard that Harry had commandeered with the permission of Sir John, to act as his own private office. There was a small, sturdy table against one wall, and barely enough room to take a full step across from that table to the door. Harry’s buckets were tucked to one side, and he had been kneeling between to them when Mr. Collins had opened the door and nearly knocked him (and them) over. 

Mr. Collins coughed slightly, wringing his Welsh wig and cap in his hands. Harry blinked, watching a soft blush rise up the taller man’s face, staining his face a far gentler colour than the ruddy, red colour that the cold forced usually upon him, and tilted his head slightly. Mr. Collins was not a particularly talkative man, and had become even more withdrawn since the death of Billy Orrin, but Harry had taken a liking to the man early on in their voyage. He had kind eyes, and was always ready with an enquiry about whatever wonders Harry had discovered in the sea and the ice, and the way his upper lip stuck out slightly reminded-

Harry stopped himself, swallowing heavily and shifting from one foot to another. Such thoughts were not wise to entertain, particularly at such close quarters. Mr. Collins was watching him closely, his eyes intense and focussed despite the pink rising up from below his collar. 

‘Mr. Goodsir, I-,’ Mr. Collins said, his voice quiet but carrying more within the little room.

‘I have been having certain  _ problems _ , thoughts, I suppose. Things I wouldn’t be comfortable talking about with Dr. Stanley. He is…’

Mr. Collins paused, assumedly searching for the correct word.

‘Formidable?’ Harry finished the sentence for him, smiling softly. 

‘I was going to call him something else, actually, but I suppose ‘formidable’ is a better way to put it,’ Mr. Collins returned Harry’s smile, letting a small chuckle out in turn. 

Harry’s heart skipped a beat as Mr. Collins’ quiet laugh filled the room. He wasn’t sure he had ever seen the man laugh, and it was a welcome sound against the melancholy backdrop both crews had found themselves against. Mr. Collins was standing incredibly close to him, a necessity given the size of the room of course, but Harry could almost feel the warmth of his breath as he let his eyes wander across the man’s face and chest. He was broad, far broader than Harry, and his eyes almost glittered in the room’s low light. Harry caught himself, before his eyes could wander lower, and returned his gaze to Mr. Collins’ face. 

‘Yes, well, I’m no doctor, sir, so if these problems are some kind of medical complaint I am not sure if I-‘

Mr. Collins cut him off. 

‘I’d much rather talk to you, Mr. Goodsir, I’m really not sure if Dr. Stanley would be of any assistance in this matter. These thoughts, they are, well,’ Mr. Collins paused, and Harry could almost hear the cogs turning in the second master’s skull, ‘they are difficult to curb, I suppose.’

‘Are they thoughts you would be willing to share, Mr. Collins? A problem shared is a problem halved, after all.’ 

Harry moved to shift his papers off of the small table, and perched himself on the edge, patting the space beside him as an invitation for Mr. Collins to sit. Mr. Collins smiled gratefully, and awkwardly maneuvered himself around until he was sat next to Harry, their legs touching by no more than a hair. Harry allowed himself a small intake of breath at the slight contact; the most he had been touched these past months had been a rough inspection by Dr. Stanley when he had sprained his wrist (hefting up a net full of Arctic curios), and the occasional friendly slap on the back from Commander Fitzjames. Nothing anywhere near as intimate as this, sitting knee to knee with a man who was suddenly staring at him as if he were a starving bear, and Harry were a picnic laid out for him deep in the woods. 

‘I’m not sure where to begin Mr. Goodsir.’

‘Call me Harry, please.’

The ‘ _ please _ ’ came out in a more breathless fashion than Harry had intended, but Mr. Collins nodded almost imperceptibly.

‘Then you must call me Henry.’

Mr Collins -  _ no, Henry  _ \- said quietly, before picking up where he had left off.

‘These thoughts, Harry, they’ve been plaguing me since...well, since Billy fell below the ice. Seeing him there and then going under myself it just…’

Harry was listening to him,  _ Lord _ he was listening, but as Henry continued he couldn’t help but be captivated by the shape of the other man’s mouth. He wondered how his lips would feel against his fingertips. Would they be soft, or chapped like so many of the other men’s? Henry continued speaking, softly, detailing the horrors he had seen below the ice, and how the smell of the standard diving dress he wore beneath the water made him retch up a storm. Harry smiled gently, and without thinking laid a hand on the taller man’s back, patting him as one would pat a nervous sheepdog. Henry froze momentarily, looking down at Harry with eyes that widened only a fraction, before sighing deeply, and continuing. 

_ His eyes are beautiful _ , Harry thought,  _ exactly the shade of fine whisky as the sun shines through it _ . He sighed, almost silently, and focussed his attention once again on Henry’s voice. It was rough, rougher than when they had begun talking, but Harry enjoyed the texture.  _ Like a woolen blanket _ , he mused,  _ comforting to be around _ . Henry’s voice was almost a whisper now, and his beautiful eyes were wet with tears.

‘They’re dark, Harry, darker than they have any right to be. But with the deaths at Beechey, Mr. Orrin and Mr. Young now, they just keep blackening in my skull,’ Henry stopped, hiccuping up a sob as he leaned heavily against Harry, ‘all I can think of is my not being here any longer, wanting to sink below again as Billy did.’

Harry stared at the man sitting next to him, feeling the hot sting of tears at the corner of his eyes, and moved to wrap his arms around Henry’s broad shoulders. It was a mite awkward, given their positions, so Harry took the initiative to stand, cradling Henry close to him. Henry sank into him, leaning forward with a grateful heave, burying his head in the slender, soft shape of Harry’s chest and sobbing quietly as Harry stroked his back.  _ Keep him close _ , said the little voice in his head,  _ keep him close or you’re wont to lose him, Harry _ . He squeezed Henry tightly, wrapping his arms around the man as best he could, and  _ damn _ his hands for barely meeting across Henry’s back; the man felt all the broader now he was resting the majority of his weight against Harry.

They stayed there for what felt like hours, swaying gently as Harry ran his hand across Henry’s back before settling one in the broad man’s thick, curly hair.  _ So like your own _ , whispered the voice,  _ how else do you and he compare? _ Henry was rubbing his face into Harry’s waistcoat and shirt, so much like a frightened pup searching for comfort. Harry could feel the first hint of the man’s tears seep through the fabric of his undershirt. He brought both hands to the back of Henry’s head and gently repositioned him so his face was resting on a dry patch of fabric; as much as he was grateful for the contact, he didn’t want the cold to follow the moisture. At this, Henry raised his head, his tear-filled eyes meeting Harry’s (not quite shining with tears, but decidedly damp nonetheless). Harry let his hands come to a stop at the back of Henry’s neck, relishing the warmth of the unruly hair that curled there. He wanted to say something, to reassure the man that they would be safe and well one day, that the dark thoughts he harboured would not harm him as long as Harry had anything to do with it.

‘Henry, I-’

But, before Harry could continue his sentence, Henry wrapped his arms around his smaller frame and pulled him close, crushing their mouths together in a messy, warm,  _ wonderful _ kiss. Harry barely caught himself on Henry as his knees all but gave out, a lightning bolt of heat rushing down his spine, straight to his prick. Henry’s lips were chapped, as he had expected, but their roughness was as delightful as the texture of his voice. He ran his tongue softly over the join of their mouths, and silently smiled as Henry opened his lips to allow access. Harry sighed into Henry’s mouth, lapping gently at the other man’s tongue.  _ This is heaven _ , came that voice again,  _ this is as close as you will get, losing yourself in this sad, beautiful creature _ . Harry knew that the voice did not mean these words kindly, but for now, as Henry pulled him closer, he didn’t much care. The blissful, surging heat between his legs grew, and he was immediately aware that Henry had a very similar predicament, as the larger man ground his hips against Harry’s.  _ God, the size of him _ . Harry whined as Henry pulled away, staring at the taller man with wide eyes.

‘Henry-,’ he managed only to gasp out the other man’s name before their lips were pushed together once more. Henry  _ growled _ , good Lord he  _ growled _ , and tangled his hands in Harry’s hair, pulling roughly in a way that made Harry lose all coherence. Harry felt himself thrusting wantonly against Henry, the friction against his cockstand a delicious, tantalising glimpse of what he had previously thought could only be a far-off and hopeless fantasy. Harry grasped at Henry, delicate hands scrabbling at the man’s chest as he tried to remain upright. It was animalistic, the way Henry was kissing him now, any doubt firmly gone from his movements as he worried Harry’s bottom lip between his teeth.  _ This is bliss _ , Harry moaned as Henry moved to bite at his neck,  _ bliss _ . He tilted his head back, baring his throat to the growling,  _ gorgeous _ man in front of him. Harry let out an embarrassingly high-pitched whine as Henry tore open his collar and sucked a mark just above his breast bone, the pressure and obscene sound of the act driving Harry almost to distraction. His hips jerked forwards, pressing their cockstands together,  _ more, he wanted more _ .

Harry gasped as Henry pulled away again, resting their foreheads together in a way that made Harry all but whimper at the tenderness of it. They stayed there, panting, until Harry opened his eyes. He was met with an expression upon Henry’s face that he had never seen before. The tears were gone, and they had left behind a look that made Harry want to crawl out of his skin and flee from the room. It was that look of starvation, multiplied a thousandfold, a starving bear staring down its prey. Harry whimpered again, brushing his fingertips through Henry’s whiskers. 

‘Would you have me, Henry?’ he spoke softly, almost afraid to trigger whatever was lurking beneath Henry’s expression.

At this, Henry exhaled sharply, his warm breath ghosting over Harry’s terrified expression. Harry yelped as the large man heaved him onto his lap, pressing their pricks together as he settled into this new and unexpected (but not unwelcome) position. He had known Henry was strong, but the ease with which he had been manhandled made him feel lightheaded.  _ No good you fainting like a virginal maid now, Harry; there’s work to be done. _ Henry growled again, large, capable hands moving to the front of his trousers, their intent clear as day. He fumbled for a moment, scrabbling at the buttons, before Harry’s smaller, gentler hands took over, unbuttoning them quickly before reaching in to take a careful hold of Henry’s prick.  _ Lord he was hard _ . Harry could feel the other man’s pulse in his cock as he drew him from his trousers.  _ Lord, he was huge _ . Henry’s yard was as impressive as the man himself, thick, and long and ruddy at the tip, and he was leaking copiously over Harry’s fingers. Harry swallowed, staring up through his long, dark eyelashes to meet Henry’s gaze. His pupils were blown wide, his face had blushed the same beautiful shade of red as his cock, and his mouth was hanging wide open as he gasped. For a moment it made Harry forget the hardness in his own trousers, watching Henry gulp for air like a fish pulled from the water from his touch alone. He stroked the head of Henry’s prick gently, letting his fingertips gather some of that clear liquid before bringing them to his lips. Harry ran his tongue over his fingers, lapping at the saltiness that coated them.

‘You are delicious, Henry,’ he proclaimed quietly, pressing his fingers to Henry’s mouth and gasping as they disappeared between his lips.

Harry whined softly as Henry ran his tongue over his fingers, and he was quickly reminded of his own cockstand as Henry firmly pressed his hand to it. He removed his fingers from Henry’s mouth and quickly undid the buttons of his trousers with a sigh that was quickly transformed into a moan as Henry grasped his prick. Harry had never had cause to doubt his size before, but he felt that ridiculously primitive shame crawl up his spine as Henry’s hand almost covered him completely. That shame, however, was quickly chased away as Henry leaned into his neck and whispered:

‘Beautiful. Harry you’re so beautiful.’

Harry bucked into Henry’s hand at the praise, groaning at the relief as Henry frigged him slowly and firmly, keeping a solid, steady pressure that reminded Harry of the man himself. Solid, dependable Henry, with his wild eyes and wilder hair. He took Henry’s prick in turn, and inhaled with delight as Henry’s head fell back with a grunt. Harry buried his head in the crook of the man’s neck, licking and sucking at the bare skin, swallowing down the taste and scent of him. He really was delicious, all leather and wool and oil, with the tang of the sea atop it all. But still, Harry wanted more. He had felt the ache as soon as Henry’s lips had touched his, and now it was all the more pronounced. So he asked again.

‘Would you have me, now, Henry?’ 

He cringed at the breathlessness of his voice, but the look on Henry’s face replaced all of his embarrassment with lust, pure and simple. The hunger had gone, as Harry had begun to frig him in earnest, but it returned now. Henry nodded, frantically, all but slapping Harry’s hand away from his prick then bringing it to his mouth again, kissing an apology into his palm.

‘I’ll have you Harry,  _ God _ , I’ll have you,’ he whispered into Harry’s hand, licking the soft skin in that same puppy-like way he had rubbed his face into Harry’s chest.

It was messy, but Harry stared down at him in adoration regardless. In turn, he took Henry’s hand away from his own prick, and began to suck softly at his fingers. Henry’s hands were far larger than his own, and with a thrill he felt their tips brush against the back of his throat. He gagged silently, and Henry’s eyes filled with panic as he tried to pull his fingers out, but Harry held them there, worrying his tongue between the man’s thick, calloused fingers, and enjoying the weight of them at the entrance to his throat, imagining what the man’s prick would feel like in this position. Another time, there would have to be another time, he needed to feel it. Now though, Henry’s eyes widened even further, watching Harry drool around his fingers.

‘Do you have any oil?’ Henry croaked, his voice now rough as sandpaper.

Harry let Henry’s fingers slide from his mouth and nodded, wiping away the spit that had gathered on either side of his mouth and clambering off of the man’s lap to kneel and hunt around in his work bag. There was some rapeseed oil tucked in there, that he used for oiling his medical and scientific equipment, and he hummed in approval: that would do nicely. As he stood, he made a quick move to jam the bag against the door, just in case. Harry turned, holding the little bottle of oil like a prize, and promptly felt his knees turn to jelly as he saw the state of Henry. 

The man had removed his coat and jumper, and was now sitting on the edge of the table with naught but his undershirt covering his upper half. He somehow appeared even broader without the covering of his uniform, finely shaped shoulders giving way to a chest that was thickly furred and  _ massive _ . Harry gulped; he could hardly measure up to this. He suddenly felt foolish, standing in front of the beautiful man, holding a bottle of oil like one would hold a trophy, with his prick hard and aching. He felt a pale little creature in comparison to this  _ sculpture  _ of a man in front of him.

‘Harry?’

Henry’s voice brought him back, and Harry rushed towards him, bumping against the other man with a grunt, not wanting to entertain any more feelings of inadequacy. What little blood had not travelled to his cockstand buzzed in his ears as Henry began to manhandle him out of his boots, trousers and waistcoat. Henry then promptly deposited Harry back in his lap, where he spread Harry’s shirt down around his shoulders, and took the bottle of oil from him. Harry wrapped his arms around Henry’s neck, kissing the newly exposed skin and running his hands beneath his vest with near-scientific precision, cataloguing every tiny reaction that he drew out from the man beneath him. The soft fur of his chest felt heavenly against Harry’s hands, and he moved to pinch gently at Henry’s nipples, curious at the reaction he would get. That curiosity was immediately well-rewarded: Henry arched into his touch with a shout that was barely muffled as he bit down into the meat of Harry’s shoulder. Harry gasped, relishing in the ache of it, and continued his ministrations with doubled enthusiasm until he heard the  _ pop _ of the bottle’s cork. 

‘Lift up, Harry,’ Henry growled into his shoulder, hefting up Harry and spreading his legs so his arsehole was entirely exposed to the open air.

_ God if someone was to walk in now, all they would see was Harry exposed like this, thrusting against Henry’s stomach like some kind of wanton doxy. _ Harry tried to push the thought aside, a quest suddenly aided by the feeling of Henry’s slick fingers brushing against his hole. Henry looked up at him, eyes searching for an answer they quickly found, before pushing the first finger slowly inside him. Harry  _ whined _ at this, his voice fluttering at the wonderfully thick intrusion. It had been years since he had been able to indulge this particular practice with another man, but the  _ want _ for it had never abated. He pressed down, wanting more of Henry inside him as soon as possible. But Henry held him fast, arm wrapped around Harry’s waist as if he were a proper little lady, brown eyes narrowed with desire and concentration as he teased at Harry’s opening with a second digit. 

Harry canted his hips forward, pressing Henry’s fingers in deeper until they caught him just  _ so _ . He moaned, tangling his fingers in Henry’s whiskers and holding their foreheads together, trying to convey through sheer thought alone how wonderful this was, how wonderful  _ Henry  _ was. Henry’s fingers worked him open, every so often brushing against that tender spot that sent dull, delightful fireworks up his spine and through his stomach. Harry could barely cease his whining now, keening softly until Henry took the initiative and licked the noises out of Harry’s mouth with his tongue, quieting him with such care that Harry felt as if his heart might tumble out of his throat and fall on to Henry’s lap. He was not sure that he would care if it did. Henry bit at Harry’s lips, leaving them plump and swollen, and continued to bite past his chin and down to his clavicle, marking him carefully.

Harry gasped as Henry removed his fingers from him, mourning that marvellous stretch. Henry paused, long enough for Harry to catch his eye; he looked almost shy, this huge, kind, gentle man. The blush had spread to his entire torso, and he looked so endearing that Harry covered the minute distance between their faces and planted a kiss on his nose. Henry laughed, softly, and smiled at Harry with a heartbreaking tenderness. The hunger from before had disappeared entirely, and while Harry wondered where it had gone, the look of absolute adoration from Henry assuaged all concerns for his safety in a heartbeat. Henry would never hurt him.  _ Not unless you ask him to _ , came a whisper from some deep, dark part of his soul that he shoved aside with a frown.

‘What is it?’ Henry stopped moving, terror creeping over his features.

Harry froze as well, having barely registered the expression on his own face. He had thought that nobody ever noticed when his face moved without his consent.

‘It’s nothing! I promise,’ his voice rose in pitch slightly at the protestation, and he felt a blush race across his features as Henry stared at him quizzically, concerned. There was a beat before the quiet became unbearable for Harry.

‘I...I was wondering what it would be like for you to hurt me,’ he sighed, staring down into his lap.

Henry frowned in confusion.

‘I’d never hurt you, Harry, not in a million years,’ he rumbled, caressing Harry’s face with a perplexed expression.

Harry’s eyes shot up, wide and nervous again, like a lamb cornered by a particularly persistent sheepdog. 

‘I know! I know, Henry, it was a passing thought is all. I didn’t realise it reached my face, is all, I-’

Henry kissed him again, pressing his rough lips to the side of Harry’s mouth. Harry blushed even deeper, running his hands down his face.

‘Sorry, I ramble when I’m nervous, you know that. I mean gosh, surely everyone aboard both of our ships knows that…’

Harry forced himself to still, staring at Henry with an apologetic look.

‘I’m afraid I’ve rather ruined the mood…’ his voice trailed off with a gasp as he felt Henry’s cockstand rub over his hole, his mind suddenly centring back around his own prick, that he quickly realised was still achingly hard between his legs.

Henry chuckled.

‘I wouldn’t say that, exactly, Harry.’

Harry smiled at him shyly, blinking back tears that he hadn’t realised were there.

‘You are really rather beautiful, Henry,’ he whispered, placing a kiss to Henry’s forehead, and another two to either cheek.

A flicker of doubt passed over Henry’s face, and Harry planted a kiss to his lover’s lips.

‘Truly, you are,’ he smiled.

Henry smiled shyly back, looking up from under his short, thick eyelashes, and Harry sighed gently as he felt the taller man’s hand knead into his buttocks. 

‘Mmmm…’

Henry’s fingers ghosted over his opening again, rubbing tiny circles into the puckered flesh there until Harry was moaning into his mouth and thrusting wantonly against Henry’s stomach, his prick weeping against the firm muscle.

‘Ready?’ 

Henry muttered, pulling away from Harry’s kiss with a fervent stare. Harry nodded, unsure that he could speak with any dignity now, and rested his head against Henry’s with a beatific grin. 

He could have wept as he felt Henry’s cockhead press inside him. The pressure was immense, and as it slipped inside that ring of muscle he bit down, hard, on Henry’s shoulder so as to not alert the entire Arctic to their activities. It felt  _ perfect _ , the weight of Henry’s prick filling him slowly and carefully as he grabbed handfuls of Henry’s undershirt and hair. He inhaled in delight as he felt Henry fill him entirely, near delirious as he registered the weight of Henry’s stones against his hole. He was  _ Henry’s _ now, only Henry’s.

‘ _ Please _ …’ he whined into Henry’s ear, ‘ _ Henry, darling Henry, please. _ ’

Henry grunted, shifting carefully inside Harry, and began to thrust up into him.  _ Ah,  _ came the voice, almost imperceptible now,  _ there’s that hunger again _ . Harry stared at Henry as his expression shifted back to that of a ravenous animal and  _ oh _ , the power of him made Harry’s eyes roll back in his head. He sat there, frantically trying to move in time with Henry’s thrusts but eventually just accepting:  _ this man is going to ruin me _ . Henry slammed up into him and Harry grabbed onto his shoulders, yelping as Henry angled his prick to hit that wonderful, magical spot inside him. He felt as if he were floating, and that Henry was the only thing anchoring him to the ground, his prick filling him so perfectly that he thought he might cry again. Harry barely noticed that Henry had begun to growl into his ear.

Every word from Henry’s mouth was utter filth, and Harry’s eyes flew open as he listened to the  _ ‘more, want more of you, every fucking inch of you’ _ and the  _ ‘going to fill you up, sweet, watch my spend leak out of that little cunny of yours’ _ . He couldn’t quite grasp the fact that Henry - sweet, quiet Henry - was saying these things, and it made his cockstand  _ throb _ as he listened to Henry describe all the ways he would take him. He clenched around Henry’s prick as it dragged over that spot beside his bladder again and again, sending ever sharper sparks throughout his entire body and making his vision grow cloudy.  _ Heaven, this is heaven _ . 

Henry’s grunts grew louder, and Harry pressed their mouths together in a desperate attempt to quiet them. He thrust his tongue into Henry’s mouth, mirroring the thrusts of his prick. Henry was filling him up in every way he could and Harry was in heaven. He moved one hand down to frig his aching cockstand, but Henry beat him to it, wrapping an enormous hand around his cock and frigging him in time with his thrusts. Harry wanted to  _ scream _ , it felt like his skin was too small for his body and that Henry’s prick was forcing him open, splitting him apart in the most glorious way. 

Harry felt, rather than heard, the groan that came from Henry as he finished. The man vibrated as he reached his crisis, filling Harry with his seed and clutching at him like a drowning man. Harry felt himself fill up with all that Henry had to give, felt Henry’s hand clench around his prick, and whined through his release, paying no mind to the pathetic little whimpers that were wrenched from him. He clung onto Henry’s undershirt, onto his hair, onto his skin, pressing himself so close to Henry that he hoped they might merge like this forever. His crisis overtook all his senses, crashing over him like waves upon waves of warm, beautiful water, and he felt himself go limp against Henry’s broad, heaving chest.

Harry was adrift. He heard a panting noise from above his head, and he felt something warm and wet leaking from his arse, but he couldn’t bring himself to move. The panting shifted, coming down to beside his face, and he felt chapped, perfect lips kiss the shell of his ear. He heard a word, repeated over and over again:

_ ‘Perfect, oh my dear Harry, you are perfect.’ _

Moments, hours, days passed, and Harry tilted his head to look for the source of the words.  _ Henry _ .

Beautiful, darling Henry.

‘Hello…’ he whispered, staring into the taller man’s soft, brown eyes.

‘Hello, Harry,’ came the equally gentle reply.

‘I’m not sure I want to move. In fact I’m not sure I  _ can _ move. You appear to have rather done me in, Mr. Collins.’

Henry chuckled quietly, and Harry hummed as he felt the buzz of his lover’s quiet laughter.

‘I think you’ve rather done  _ me _ in, Mr. Goodsir. How on Earth am I going to get anything done now, having seen you like this?’

‘I have faith you will manage, dear Henry,’ Harry sucked in a breath as he felt Henry move beneath him. His prick was still achingly sensitive.

‘As for now, we had better clean up, I’m sure someone will be wondering where one or other of us are.’

Henry nodded silently, his face a picture of peace and post-coital bliss. Cloths were found and made use of, shirts and trousers were re-buttoned, boots were pulled on. After a short time the room looked as if nothing untoward had ever occurred, bar a slight film of sea water where one of Harry’s buckets had sloshed around.

‘Henry,’ Harry started, smoothing the front of his waistcoat in a well-practiced gesture, but Henry stopped him, pressing a soft kiss to his mouth with a smile.

‘Thank you for your help, Mr. Goodsir, I’d like to talk again soon, if it suits you?’ 

Henry ducked his head down as he spoke, looking almost sheepish at the implications of the request.

Harry beamed, and he felt his eyes light up as he took Henry’s hands in his own.

‘I shall look forward to it then, Mr. Collins. I will be here when you need me.’


End file.
